My wife not being speculative,
I requested her philosophy,
what her thoughts on life and death might be,
and, while she put away a pan, she said,
 
well,  I’ll just bumble around until it’s over.
 
In her words there was
no maudlin self-pity,
No Invictus posturing,
No angels or devils.
 
And when I thought of
Plato and his cave,
Kant’s Categorical Imperative,
Emerson’s Over-Soul,
Huxley’s pragmatism,  
Sartre’s essence and existence . . .  
 
none of this had for me
the candor, the accuracy,
the succinctness
of bumbling around  until it’s over.

(2011)

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